


We're Here Because I Need a Foot Rub

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Mockingbird (Comic)
Genre: Anal Plug, Blow Jobs, Civil War II (Marvel), Cunnilingus, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Smutty, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, basically canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: The epilogue to the Mockingbird series, which didn't make it past the censors for some reason.





	1. Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> I've just recently gotten back into comics after a break of a few years, but I like to base my fics on canon as much as possible, so if I have any glaring errors, please let me know! 
> 
> Also, if you're reading this, you've probably already read (or at least heard of) the Mockingbird series, but if you haven't, I highly recommend it! It's not perfect, but it's pretty darn good. This fic also references Civil War II and the The Accused one-shot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we acknowledge the complicated circumstances of one of our heroes.

It's a week after a jury of his peers finds him Not Guilty of first-degree murder when he finally hears from her. Most of his friends have been avoiding him—and he doesn't blame them, he's honestly a little thankful for it, because what would they say? _Congratulations on walking after killing your friend; champagne's on me!_

He's eating leftover takeout in his apartment, alone, because where else would he be, when his phone buzzes. Bobbi's face fills the screen, a smiling picture he took back when they were on Luke's New Avengers team, when they still thought that a happy ending might be in the works for the two of them.

He presses _Accept_. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey, doll." She says it 'dawl', like she's a noir P.I. about to take a drag off a cigarette, and he can practically hear her wink when she asks, "So, what's new?"

"Oh, you're cute," he says, putting down his food and crossing his legs on top of the coffee table. 

"That's what my enemies say."

"Too many knocks to the head, probably."

"Well, but see, that comes after they call me cute." 

"Glad I'm not your enemy, then." 

She cuts to the chase. "So, I followed the trial."

The elephant in the room. If there's anyone who wouldn't judge him for killing, it's Bobbi. She understands what it's like, and it's true that he used to be the one preaching about lines in the sand, but Bobbi isn't going to call him a hypocrite, either. Not while he's down.

"I'm glad they decided the way they did," she continues. The delicate phrasing is slightly grating, though he appreciates the sentiment. 

"Check me out," he quips, "beating those murder raps left and right."

"Mmmm. Very impressive."

"Yeah." He sighs. 

"And now? How are you holding up?" 

"Which answer you looking for?" He was going for somewhere between cheeky and breezy, but it comes out a little more bitter than he intended.

A pause, and then, "I'm your friend, Clint." 

Which is true; his best friend is his ex-wife. Which is kind of unconventional, sure. They probably make better friends than they ever did romantic partners, putting aside the intense attraction between them, but anyway, he knows he can trust her, and he just starts talking. "It's awful. I don't know how Bruce thought I would be able to live with myself after this. I keep remembering—I keep remembering how it happened, but, like, from afar, as if it was another Clint Barton who shot that arrow, and I just have his memories." He can't stop now, not once he started talking, and everything he's been thinking and not saying over the past few weeks starts to spill out. "Not to mention the fact that Bruce is dead, and I want to talk to him, to ask him if he thinks I made the right decision, because it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, but he doesn't think anything, and I'll never know what he would have thought. I can't stop second guessing myself, even now that I'm supposedly exonerated—that's the word the prosecutor used, 'exonerate.'" He takes a deep breath and keeps going. "I want to blame Tony and Carol for setting this whole thing up, but it doesn't matter, does it? Maybe none of it would have happened if we hadn't gone out there, maybe whatever Bruce was working on was curing him, I don't know—but it doesn't matter, because he's dead, and they didn't kill him, I did."

"Oh, Clint. I'm so sorry." 

"No, I'm sorry to—" 

"Please, don't be."

He almost apologizes again, for apologizing. These days, he wants to apologize for his entire existence. "Well... thanks for calling." 

"Wait, don't hang up." 

"What is it?" 

"Well, this sounds kind of banal now, I guess, but I called because... well, I figured you could stand to get away from it all, and to be honest, I've had somewhat of a stressful few days, so, anyway, I've got this cabin in the Alps booked for next week, for a skiing vacation. What do you say?" 

Yes, _hell_ yes. A retreat with Bobbi, with log cabins and bearskin rugs in front of a burning fireplace? No media, no betrayed teammates, just him and his beautiful ex-wife-best-friend? That is absolutely what he needs right now. "I'll be there." He can already feel his mood picking up, and his blood rushing to—

"Great! Wonderful. You can meet Hunter. He's so curious about you. This will be great. I'll forward you the details. See you there!" 

Wait, what? 

"Who the fuck is Hunter?" 

But she's already hung up. 

"Bobbi?"


	2. Wish He Were Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes tell each other what they want. Specifically.

Bobbi's not taking it for granted that this whole vacation (read: ambush) could just have easily have blown up in her face—literally, considering some of Hawkeye's trick arrows and the way that superheroes and spies tend to meet for the first time—but somehow, miraculously, they're all enjoying themselves. The skiing is great, the crisp air refreshing, the men are really more curious about each other than anything else, and most importantly, the cocoa is top-notch. 

Aside from the sniffle-y bear hug she attacks Clint with when he first arrives, the atmosphere is relaxed, carefree, with no talk about what's going on out there in the real world. They'll discuss it later, she's sure, but it can wait. 

The first two evenings are spent relaxing on the couches with wine, talking shop and comparing scars. At one point, there's an argument that nearly turns violent over who the greatest super villain ever is (for the record: Doom, not Kang, and for the last time, Clint himself doesn't count just because he beat up Iron Man a few times or whatever).

The third night, Clint turns in early, so they do too. 

"Interesting vacation," Hunter comments as they change for bed, as if he's talking about the weather.

"I'll take that as a compliment." 

"So funny how it slipped your mind to tell me that your ex-husband was going to be joining us here." 

"Well, I knew how much you wanted to meet him, and I know how much you love surprises," she says cheekily. 

Hunter snorts, lying down on his back and stretching out, resting his head on his hands. "I hate surprises." 

"Right, that's it. There's such a fine line between love and hate; it's easy to confuse the two." 

He chuckles. "Well, I don't hate your husband."

"Nice segue!" She shakes her head with an incredulous huff and sits down on the bed so that she can peel off her socks, always the last piece of clothing from the day to come off. "And, ex."

"There's such a fine line between the two," Hunter retorts with a smirk.

Bobbi shrugs. "We're close." She's not defensive. There's nothing for her to be defensive about; she hasn't done anything about which to be defensive. 

"D'you want him back?" he asks.

She's not sure she heard him right. Well, she is sure, but she's... taken aback. "What?" 

"You can answer honestly, I'm a big boy."

"I mean, he's Clint. He's my ex for a reason."

He doesn't say anything in response. She can see he's not about to let this go. 

"Listen, Lance," she begins, sitting next to him, "I really like what we have going here; I don't want to lose you. And Clint and I always seem to end in heartbreak. But I... I don't want to lose him, either." And there it is, black and white. She's still hung up on her ex. And now her boyfriend knows. "You're the only man I've been able to see myself in a relationship with since... well, since I met him, basically, but at the same time, I can't see myself ever not loving him. And ever not wanting him, for that matter."

"Hmm." He rubs his jaw. "That's what I thought." 

His lack of reaction to her confession is very annoying. "Yeah, yeah, it's written across my face. Um, so, how are you not storming out of this room right now?"

"I like this room. It has a nice bed." 

She narrows her eyes. "You don't seem very upset by this revelation." 

"What you're saying is—if I understand you correctly—is that in order for a man to be successful in having a relationship with you, he has to he okay with the... somewhat ambiguous... role that Clint plays in your life." 

"Well..." she hedges. It's not wrong.

"He would probably be someone who doesn't get jealous easily," Hunter continues. "Someone who... understands what you see in him."

"You understand what I see in him?" Bobbi says, and something inside of her starts to wake up, something she's never said out loud, something tucked deep into her subconscious and only ever taken out for special occasions, namely the occasional hour-long weekend morning session with her vibrator. 

"I mean, the man has fantastic abs." 

This is an undisputed fact. "Yeah, you should see his ass." 

"Now we're getting somewhere," Hunter says, grinning.

She doesn't dare assume. "What are you saying?" 

"Well, I know I only just met him, but I think I'm okay with him being... around." 

"Around?" she repeats.

"Us." 

To leave no room for misunderstandings, she leans forward, looks him square in the eyes, and demands, "Be. Very. Specific." 

"Okay." Hunter puts his thumb on her lower lip, pulls on it so that her lips are slightly parted, and kisses her. He pulls back, looking unfazed. "Specifically, I think you should go down to his room—" he looks at his watch, "now—and ask him if he wants to join us in bed." 

She's already putting on her slippers before the sentence is finished. 

 

 

The last thing that Clint expects is a knock on the door late at night.

When he opens the door, and sees Bobbi standing there in a silky ice blue nightgown-thing that doesn't even cover, like, a third of her thighs, without even a robe on top for Heaven's sake, he has to hold back from pinching himself to make sure he's not dreaming. He isn't, because he wasn't at all sleepy. He's been on edge all evening, and had to take off early so that it wouldn't show in his mood. 

Spending all this time with them, watching the way Hunter touches her so freely, and having to hold himself back... he's never been in a situation like this, and he's having a hard time dealing with it. He's not jealous, exactly—he clearly has no right to _that_ —but he does feel kind of... lost. And Bobbi was so cool about it when he was dating Jess, which makes him feel like a douchebag hypocrite, and he can't think anything further because his mind is circling back around to the fact that right this second, she is in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the frame, looking like a goddess. Her blond hair cascades down her shoulders, and the satin material of the thing she's wearing runs over her body like she's standing naked underneath a stream of water, all the essential bits covered but not much else. 

He makes sure to keep his eyes on her face, prepared to bluff his ass off. "Hello, Mockingbird. What's going on?" 

"Hello, Hawkeye. Got any plans for tonight?" 

"Oh, yeah, big ones. You caught me just as I was trying to make my kind up between watching basketball or porn. How about you?" 

She bites her lip and takes a step inside the room, and he knows that look, knows her well enough to know what she's doing, and also, what the hell is she doing? 

"And how committed are you to these basketball-slash-porn plans?" she asks, her voice low and rich. 

His brain starts to fritz. "Well, I'm not married to it. Or, you know, divorced from it, whatever." 

"So, if something else came up..." she places a hand on his chest, and he jumps back like it's on fire. This woman is in a relationship with a man who is not him and he doesn't know what the appropriate etiquette is here, and he's having a very, very hard time trying to figure it out.

He rolls a die in his head, and it lands on bravado. 

"Where's Edward Norton?" he asks, taking her hand off his chest and bringing it to his lips. "He know you're here, Birdie?" 

"He does." She takes a step closer. "Actually, Hunter has expressed an interest in... getting to know you better." 

He drops her hand, shocked. "You're shitting me." 

"I swear it." 

"Holy shit." 

"If you're interested. Whatever." She cocks an eyebrow. "Ever been with a guy, sport?" 

His mind quickly flashes to all of the women he's slept with—and there have been a lot of them (some he wishes he could take back, but that's neither here nor there), but no men in the mix. It's all coming back to her, like it always does. "I haven't, but I'm open to—That's not what I'm worried about, though. It's just, what does this mean? Are we talking just one night?" 

"It... it doesn't have to mean anything, but it also doesn't have to _not_ mean anything. You know, maybe we would work better if we had someone else to smooth out our edges. And he's so nice, Clint."

His mind is reeling. "Jesus." 

She holds up a hand. "But that's not what I came here to talk about. It can be just one night; that's fine, too. Either way, you don't need to answer now. The offer stands, and... you know where we'll be." She turns to go. 

"Wait." His arm shoots out, blocking the doorway. The hair on his arm brushes against her clothing, just barely, right at the curve of her breast.

She looks up, smiling widely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He motions towards the hall. "Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "How the hell does Hunter know what Clint's abs look like?" And I thought the same thing, when I first saw him say it in the Mockingbird Annual issue.
> 
> The answer, of course, is spandex.


	3. Wish We Could Stay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our story earns its Explicit rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, I want to apologize in advance for not having thought of a sexy synonym for "sphincter." Also, it's possible that I don't know where the line is between realistic and, "ew, nobody wants to read about that." And, with that out of the way, on to the smut!

They're quiet on the way back to the room, and Bobbi's starting to lose her nerve. She sneaks a peek at him: the profile she knows so well, the kind eyes, crooked nose, that blond mop of hair on his head. The face that was once so dear to her in the man she used to wake up next to every day, that she'd once thought she would _always_ wake up next to. Looking at him is reassuring. And when they reach the room, Hunter is waiting out in the hallway, relaxed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing nothing but—

"Hey, Union Jack, nice undershorts." Clint looks at Hunter, looks at Bobbi, and shakes his head, muttering, "Incorrigible." 

Oh. She'd almost forgotten. 

Hunter also glances at her, and she tries to look as innocent as possible, but of course it's useless. "What?" he asks. 

Clint walks into the bedroom, and they follow. "This one," he indicates Bobbi with a wave of his hand, "sent me some stars and stripes briefs, just like those, except, you know, American, a few months ago. No note, no follow-up, no nothing. I didn't even know it was her who sent it until just now." He raises his eyebrows at Bobbi. "And now I understand. It's a matching set. We're," he points to Hunter and then back to himself," a matching set."

Bobbi's biting her lip, and she can feel her face turning red with the effort not to laugh, along with the embarrassment of being caught (she honestly never thought that Hunter and Clint would have occasion to see each other's underwear), but he's not wrong, they are kind of a matching set, which is why they're both on this vacation with her in the first place. 

Hunter folds his arms. "Oh, she's got us wrapped around her fingers," he says, grinning at Clint. "Like good little lapdogs."

She's starting to get nervous. 

Clint crosses his arms, too, mirroring Hunter, and they stand next to each other like some sort of united front. They both have the same look in their eyes now, which spells trouble. "She says, 'Jump,'" Clint continues, "and we say, 'Yes, Daddy.'"

"I bet she's so satisfied with herself right now," Hunter says. "She's got us exactly where she wants us." 

"How many times do you think she's dreamed of this?" Clint asks.

"You know, she calls me by your name in bed. On purpose." 

"Oh, that's naughty." The gleam in Clint's eye grows brighter, if possible.

"I think," says Hunter, turning towards Clint, "it's time she learned that not everything is about her." 

"Agreed. Bobbi? Go sit on the bed and wait your turn," Clint orders, giving her a stern look. 

She can't look away, they're so close to each other, these beautiful men and their gorgeous bodies—it's like she has double vision, and she's starting to feel dizzy. She drops onto the bed, and scoots back a few feet, to get a better view. Clint pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it at her like he's some sort of rock star, and she snorts and swats it away. 

Hunter makes the first move—this isn't new for him, she remembers, he's mentioned having had sexual encounters with men before—placing his fingers on Clint's jaw, leaning in to kiss him. Clint responds tentatively, going with the flow, but clearly following Hunter's lead. After a few seconds, Hunter pulls back and runs his fingers down Clint's chest and his incredible abs. He goes back up and down a few times, getting Clint used to his touch. 

His stroke is strong and sure, and he looks into Clint's eyes, as if examining for hints of his getting spooked. Clint looks back at him squarely. She can see that he's starting to get erect, and Hunter puts his other hand on Clint's shoulder, steadying him. Neither of them is looking at her, it seems, so she's somewhat surprised when Hunter barks, "Agent 19, put that hand back where it came from right this second." 

Bobbi very reluctantly takes her hand away from where it had been creeping between her legs, bringing it back to her side. She's tempted to tell him to go to hell, that she'll touch herself whenever and however she likes, but she doesn't want to interrupt the show.

"You okay?" Hunter asks Clint, hand on the elastic of the other man's boxer briefs (purple, of course). "We don't have to do this part if you don't want to." He's so nice. She really wants to keep him. 

"Yeah." Clint takes a deep breath, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as if getting ready for a race. He nods. "I'm good." 

"Okay. Stop me if—" 

"I will." 

Then Hunter drops to his knees. 

He slowly pulls Clint's underwear off, and Clint is fully hard, his erection bobbing against his stomach. He puts his arms behind him, on the TV stand, for support, which causes his pelvis to stick out, showing off the prize, so to speak. Bobbi's mouth starts to water. She has fond memories of that cock, the way it responded to her touch, how it felt sliding into her, how he always seemed to know the precise angle to hit in order to drive her wild. That's what she needs now, and she starts grinding her hips slowly into the bedspread, seeking relief.

"Bobbi, _wait your turn_ ," Clint says in an authoritative voice (the one that he used to command the Avengers with, that she's never heard in the bedroom, not until now), a voice that travels through her body and whispers over the nerve endings all over her skin, making her shiver. She sighs, and obeys, aroused and tortured.

Her mind basically explodes when Lance takes Clint into his mouth. There's so much to process: first of all, how incredible Hunter looks on his knees, which she already knows from some very strategically placed full-length mirrors, but it never gets old. Then there's the look of sheer amazement on Clint's face, like he can't believe that he's doing this and he can't believe how much he likes it. She's filled with some emotion that she can't describe, knowing that he's doing this for her, not that he's not enjoying himself, but he wouldn't have done it if—what? If he hadn't wanted to make her happy? They're not together, she knows that they're not together, but she has so much love for him that it's practically coming out her ears. 

Lance takes Clint's hand and starts to stroke the pad of his thumb with his own. Clint groans and his eyes flutter closed, but they open again and he looks down at his crotch, and then Clint has his hands in Hunter's brown hair, and Hunter is taking him even deeper, back and forth, faster and faster, and then Clint says, "Shit, I'm going to come—" and Hunter keeps going, and he says it again, "I'm gonna—" and then he does, he comes in Hunter's mouth, his eyes shut, hips pumping uncontrollably and he lets out a long, broken moan. She feels her pussy start to twitch, just from watching. 

Hunter pulls off, stands up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, "Well, I can honestly say that was the first time I have ever sucked off my girlfriend's ex-husband."

"Yeah." Clint looks shaken, but in a good way. "Yeah." He laughs, and shoots her a wink. "S'up, Morse?"

Finally, they're looking at her, and she laughs with delight and... is it relief? Relief that she can somehow see this crazy idea ending well, that just maybe, she won't have to give up on the man who owns her heart in order to have a healthy relationship. 

"If you boys think that this was some sort of punishment for me," she says, "then you are out of your minds." 

She jumps off the bed and gives each of them a kiss on the cheek. "That being said," she continues, "I'm gonna need you two to get me off _good_ now." 

"I guess we have to," Clint shrugs. "It's only fair." 

They help her out of her chemise together, and all she can feel is their hands—hands everywhere, big, strong, warms hands sliding over her hips and waist and arms, caressing her, loosening her up. She sighs as they pull the straps over her wrists and off, leaving her completely naked and in their care. 

 

 

Their bodies cage hers from each side, skin against skin against skin. Lance pulls her hair out of the way, while Clint braces her with his hands on her hips, and both men kiss up her collarbone towards her neck from opposite shoulders. When he reaches the top of her backbone, Lance starts kissing down her back, placing his mouth on each vertebra while his hands skim her sides, worshipping her glowing skin. He finishes up at the base of her spine, where he places his hands over Clint's.

Clint drops down on one knee so that they're facing each other next to Bobbi's legs. "Can I taste her?" he asks in a whisper. "Please, it's been so long..." 

It's a weird feeling, the deference that he's receiving as the current boyfriend, when he knows that Bobbi's connection with her ex is a thousand times stronger than whatever she feels for him, but he likes this partnership thing they have going on, and it makes him feel magnanimous. He stands up again, taking her in his arms, and leads her to the head of the bed, prompting her to lie back against him. She feels like a furnace, but she's shivering.

"Hey," he says, kissing her neck, "lie back and relax. Clint's going to eat you out now. You ready?" 

A slow smile spreads over her face. "Oh, yes." 

He places his hands on her strong inner thighs, which are still shaking. "We're going to make you feel so good," he whispers in her ear, and he draws her thighs apart, making room for the other man to settle in.

Clint starts out by feathering kisses on her stomach, and then he curls his arms under her legs and back over the top, placing pressure on them so that she can't move, and her legs are pressed flat against the mattress, but still open enough for him to work. He moves down her belly, and traces his tongue over the creases where the top of her legs end and her pelvis begins, then brings his head to her thighs and places hot, audible open-mouthed kisses on the inside of each. When she starts to whimper, he looks up at her with a twinkle in his eye. "What's the matter, baby? You need more?" He's teasing, but the affection and tenderness behind it is clear in his face. 

Clint nuzzles at the junction between her legs and makes an appreciative sound. She strains her pelvis in his direction, pushing her shoulders against Lance's chest for leverage, which thrusts her breasts upwards. Lance takes advantage, filling his hands with her breasts, while Clint chuckles and raises his head an inch, then releases her with one hand so that he can swipe a finger down her slick center and bring it his mouth, sucking it clean. 

An idea pops into Lance's head, and he says, "Wait a second, don't start yet." He shifts Bobbi over for a second, and Clint scoots back a bit, so that he can lean over the side of the bed and pull out a black box from underneath. He opens it a crack and sticks his hand inside, rummaging through the box until he's found what he's looking for. 

He brings up the toy and the bottle of lube, noticing how Clint's eyes widen. It's red, bud-shaped, and not too long but fairly wide, with a circular flared base. The last time she had him over for dinner, he brought this instead of a bottle of wine, and, long story short, they have a new favorite sex toy.

He lays it on the mattress in between them. "All right, babe?"

She turns her head around and lays a heart-stopping smile on him. "Yes, please."

Good. He turns the lube bottle upside down, shakes it a few times, and squeezes the liquid out into a spiral, liberally coating the surface of the plug. Then he gets a hand under Bobbi's arse and lifts. "Help me out here, sweetheart."

She pulls herself up by her arms, and he finds it by feel—one hand seeking out her back hole and running a finger over it a few times to prepare her, and the other lining up the toy. Meanwhile, Clint is still there between her legs, staring with his mouth hanging open as Bobbi's arse hole is teased, and Lance envies him the view. 

Bobbi lowers herself slowly onto the toy while he holds it in place, and she lets out a squeak once it's in, rolling her bottom once before Clint groans, "Fuck," and pushes her legs further apart and lowers his head—

He doesn't start slow this time. From the second Clint's mouth is on her, Lance can see that he's giving it all he's got, fingers and lips and tongue working in tandem _everywhere_ , his knuckles spreading her inner lips, upper teeth scraping gently on her clit, his tongue all over the place, practically slurping her up. She can't stay still, so Lance has to use his free hand to press down on her pubic bone and keep her in place. 

"He looks like he's really good at this," he remarks casually.

"He's the best," Bobbi groans, which surprises him, because he didn't think she would have heard him over the intense pleasure she seems to be experiencing. "Oh, shit, I shouldn't have said that." She pants, grinds against Barton's mouth, and mutters something—he can just about make out the words "male fragility." 

"Are you kidding me, this is an honor to watch." 

Clint pulls back for a second and says, "I'll give you some pointers later, man," then slides two fingers inside her, pulling them halfway out, all wet and shiny, then spreading them, stretching her out as he starts to fuck her slowly with his fingers. He hovers for a few moments, watching his handiwork, then goes back in with his mouth. 

For his part, Lance runs the fingertips of his left hand across her belly, then caresses the undersides of her breasts, and teases her nipples into points. Once he's got them standing at attention, he pinches them, one at a time, making her hiss, all while his right hand twists the toy around inside of her. Her head is back on his chest, her long blond hair sweaty and matted, eyes glazed over, and she's breathing in quick, desperate pants. He's smitten. Still, he has more work to do. 

"Careful, she's about to come," he warns, and Clint backs up at the same time as Lance closes both his hands around her wrists, pulling them behind her back. He knows she could easily break all the bones in his hands for that, but she'll play along. 

"More," she begs. "Please. I need..." 

Lance kisses the side of her head. "We know. We'll get you there. Trust us." 

Her hips are still writhing, but there's nothing there for them to meet, and she grunts in frustration. "Ughhh, fuck you both." 

Clint laughs. "Oh, we're not done with you, Birdie." He scoots over to the head of the bed, cocks his head at Lance, and says, "Want a taste?" 

Without hesitating, Lance goes in for the kiss, greedily licking inside the other man's open mouth, the taste and smell of her addicting. 

When that's done, Clint and Bobbi kiss. This one goes on for a long time, and they wrap their arms around each other, pulling each other closer as if every molecule of air that separates any part of them is one too damn many, like they want to crawl inside each other's souls and never return. For a second, it makes Lance wonder what he's doing there, if either of them would notice if he just snuck out of them room and left them to each other, but when they finally pull apart, panting, Bobbi gives him this look over her shoulder like he's the greatest person in the universe. The kiss she gives him is sweet, her soft lips brushing against his, almost chaste except for the fact that scent is on him and on her, and he still has the taste of Clint in his mouth, and when their lips touch, it seems to cement this—this crazy threesome he's found himself a part of, this kinky sex that has somehow become one of the most meaningful and powerful experiences of his life.

As she pulls back, she playfully nips at his lower lip, and then flips her body around, showing a new burst of energy. Her legs bracket his as she rises onto her knees. "Buckle up, Hunter. I hope you two didn't think you were calling all the shots tonight. Clint, get this man some protection." 

Clint grabs a condom from the box on the bedside table and hands it to him. He might be trembling a little as he shucks off his pants and rolls the condom on, but only because of exhaustion—and then it's on, and she—he doesn't have a better way to put this, she just melts right onto him, all liquid heat around his cock, and she's lying down on him and she's so warm and it's never been this good, and then she lifts herself up and starts to ride him slowly and he could die right now a happy man. 

Of course, he'd be happier not to die right now, because this is really good and he doesn't want it to stop, ever. 

"This is beautiful," murmurs Clint from somewhere near his feet. 

"Come closer," Bobbi says in response, so he positions himself behind her and starts to rub her back. 

He doesn't expect it when she covers Clint's mouth with her open hand, and he _really_ doesn't expect it when he coats her palm with spit. Americans are savages. 

"Seriously, the lube is literally right here," Lance says. 

"Oh, yeah. See? This is why I keep you around," Bobbi deadpans, pretty impressively for someone currently pleasuring herself on his cock. She reaches over for the lube, squeezes it out onto the same hand, then reaches behind her and starts to stroke up and down her ex-husband's shaft, moving her hand at the same pace as her hips. Lance didn't get to see Clint's face when he was blowing him, but he's glad he's got this view now—eyes squeezed shut as if in pain, his mouth open, the five-o'clock shadow emphasizing his sharp jawline, and Hawkeye's not generally considered the prettiest Avenger, but anyone who could see this would reconsider. He wishes he could photograph this image in his mind and keep it forever. 

Clint buries his head in Bobbi's neck as his body starts to jerk, and Lance can hear the spurting against her back. He lets out a groan of relief as it comes—which makes it Hawkeye 2, everyone else 0, for those keeping score at home. 

Dropping her hands, she keeps going, leaning back against Clint for support. Lance is getting closer and it's clear that she is, too, so Clint moves his hands to help her along. His fingers work her from both front and back, one hand working itself between her folds and rubbing her clit, the other teasing the plug in her bottom and brushing up against Lance's balls as he does so, and Lance goes off like a rocket, shouting out their names as he releases. She follows him over the edge a few seconds later with a gasp, her muscles contracting around his cock and her whole body stiffening for a good fifteen seconds before she lets out a long, contented sigh. 

As they disengage and Lance disposes of the condom, Clint helps her onto her stomach, palms her arse cheeks and gently spreads them apart, checking out the toy like he's never seen anything like it. He puts a finger on it and jiggles it a little, experimentally. "Hey, Birdie, you think you've got another one in you?" 

She whimpers, which could go either way. 

Lance feels physically wrecked, but she deserves all the orgasms in the world for setting this up, so he kisses her on the temple and says, "We're going to keep going, okay? Just one more. Stop us if it's too much." 

She nods, face down on the mattress.

Clint is still eyeing the butt plug. "So, what do I do with this thing?" 

"Wow, you're really new at this, aren't you?" 

"I'm a simple man, Hunter." 

"Okay, Simple Man, what you want to do is get a grip around it and tug, but make sure you do it _gently_. The idea is to put pressure on the sphincter, but not to go all the way in and out like a dildo. The second you feel that it's coming out is the second you've pulled too hard."

"Like this?" He gets his middle finger and thumb on both sides, then puts his forefinger on top, to prevent it from getting out. There's a little movement, and Bobbi moans. Barton's a quick learner, it seems. 

"Perfect, just like that." Lance, meanwhile, slides his hand underneath her, twisting his wrist to get two fingers on her clit and his thumb at her entrance—not ideal, but he's no Mr. Fantastic. She lifts her head to look back at them, watching the way they work together as a team, the two of them setting up a rhythm, their quick back-and-forth movements punctuated by Bobbi's gasps and groans. Her second orgasm is wrung out of her like the last remnants of water from a dish towel, and she collapses into a boneless heap on the bed even before the spasms stop. 

 

 

For a good five minutes, they don't move; they just lie there, entangled in each other's bodies. Finally, Bobbi pipes up. "Someone get my back," she says. 

Right. Clint drags himself out of the bed. He squats down over the sex box or whatever it is that Hunter had pulled out earlier. "You got some sort of wet wipes in this thing?" 

Hunter opens his eyes a crack. "Yeah, look around inside, you'll see them." 

He finds the little white package after a few seconds of searching and drops it on the bed. Then he pulls one out, and starts to clean his spunk off Bobbi's back, wiping in a circular motion near the small of her back, which makes her sigh like a contented kitten. 

"Let me get one of those," Hunter says. He sits up, takes a wipe from the package, wraps it around his fingers, and reaches between Bobbi's butt cheeks. He fidgets a little, and then there's a pop (she sighs again) and the toy comes out. He wipes it down quickly, then drops it onto the table on his side of the bed. "Remind me to finish that tomorrow." 

Clint is done with Bobbi's back, so he tosses the wipe into the trash and goes and puts his shirt and underwear back on. "Yeah. So, I'll, uh, see you two in the morning?" 

Bobbi's arm shoots out, and she grabs hold of his wrist. One word. "Stay." 

He glances over at Hunter, who shrugs and shuffles over, pulling Bobbi with him, to make room for him. He loses the shirt again, crawls in, and joins in on the cuddle. She kisses his forehead and closes her eyes again, a hint of a satisfied smile on her face.

The bed is crowded, the room smells of sweat and sex, and they're all in desperate need of a shower, but it can wait until morning. In this moment, he's warm and he's safe. And he knows that he doesn't deserve this, and this tranquility won't last, which means he needs to be greedy and grab whatever shards of happiness he can before it's time to pay the piper, so he curls his body around hers, and he stays.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope it was as much of adventure to read as it was to write. And don't forget to #makeminemilkshake


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